


Nothing on a Whim

by ryssabeth



Series: Metropolitan Art [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Eponine-centric, Gen, Homeless Character, One-Sided Relationship, University
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-29 04:27:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/682751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryssabeth/pseuds/ryssabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He just didn’t come to class one day. And he didn’t come back the next day. Or the day after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing on a Whim

It’s always hard to know what happened, what goes on in the minds of other people. But sometimes, Eponine wishes she could read minds (and other times she doesn’t—such as when she’s in a room with Marius, but this is hardly the time for that).

Grantaire dozes on her couch, his fingertips resting on the empty bottle of raspberry vodka, completely consumed by him alone. (It hadn’t been that difficult to explain _no, he’s always like that, it’s not the alcohol_ and everyone had believed her—why wouldn’t they? Grantaire isn’t their problem.)

 _“I’m not yours either_ ,” Grantaire sighs in a conversation that they’ve had before, a time ago.

(It’s just—-you know? One day, Grantaire had been helping her through Intro to Classics, and then the next day he was gone. He didn’t return the day after, or the day after that. Or ever.)

And so she wishes she could read Grantaire’s mind, wishes she understood _why_ he’s decided that Metro stations and bus stops have more use for him than the university does. It’s unlikely he made it on a whim—Grantaire never does nothing half-way ( _the vodka bottle tells_ that _story just fine_ ) and he doesn’t do anything on a whim either.

The only thing he doesn’t do is think before he speaks. And that is hardly whimsy.

“Eponine, _go to bed_ ,” Grantaire murmurs, pulling his hand away from the bottle on the floor and rolling to press his face into the sofa cushions. She tosses a pillow at him to show that she’d heard, and that’s the only goodnight she bestows to him.

Gavroche has long since tucked himself in (but she’s made sure of that, peeking into his room to find him curled up in bed, Godzilla tacked to his wall with Grantaire’s other doodles) and she winds her hair into a bun to go to sleep herself.

She worries about him, you know. It’s only fair, since he doesn’t do it himself.

-

When Eponine wakes up that morning—sleeping in until at least ten (work doesn’t start until noon on Saturdays)—Grantaire is gone, leaving a hastily scrawled note in his place on the sofa.

 _You’re a peach_ , it says, and the fruit is drawn in the corner, a smile drawn within it _._ _Also, recommend yoga do your blonde Apollite friend, because he needs to relax._

_Always in your debt, etc.,  
_

_R._

One day she’ll figure him out. _Someone_ has to.

(She ignores the way he refers to Enjolras, ignores the looks he sent him last night, ignores everything that’s going inthe _wrong direction_ , because she has to work today.

But, sometimes, she just _wishes_ she could do more than toss up her hands and say _Goddammit, Grantaire._

But, alas, if wishes were horses.)


End file.
